Gone to the dogs

You know you’re losing your grip when you go to a party where half the guests are dogs and you feel right at home. We went to such a gathering over the weekend and I’ve never had a better time.

Paul Duffy

You know you’re losing your grip when you go to a party where half the guests are dogs and you feel right at home. We went to such a gathering over the weekend and I’ve never had a better time.

There were perhaps 60 people at this event and every one of them brought a dog. That was the idea – a party for dogs, a canine get-together where the animals could socialize while their human companions exchanged dim-witted dog stories of questionable veracity.

I learned, for instance, that the Dalai Lama, another dog lover, took a hundred Lhasa Apsos with him when he left Tibet. I came by this information from a smallish man in thick glasses who had brought a dog that looked like a bear. The party was outdoors, on the grounds of an “assisted living facility,” and the bear seemed intent on meeting all the residents as well as the other party animals, some of which wore strange costumes and funny hats.

The little man had lashed himself to the bear – unwisely, I felt – with a rope that could have been used as a hawser on the battleship Missouri. The last I saw of them, the bear/dog was dragging his master around down a path, apparently headed for the woods.

My wife and I had brought our Tibetan spaniel to the party. His name is Bumby. He’s a small dog who thinks he’s a big dog and has a bark to support this conceit. The story has it that Tibetan spaniels were bred as watchdogs by monks and would act as sentinels on the ramparts of the mountain monasteries. Bumby has a long, thick coat to protect him from the winds off the Himalayas and a tail like the plume in a Musketeer’s hat. He is stout-hearted but sensitive. When we brought home a pug puppy in January to restore our dog population to three – there is also another pug – Bumby lodged an official protest and bit me on the nose.

Bumby resents any disturbance in the routine and who can blame him? But once he accepted the idea that the baby pug had come to stay, I think he was sincerely contrite about biting my nose and has shown me great affection ever since. Although he had plenty of competition, Bumby was a big hit at the dog party. You could tell that some of the other dogs were going out of their way to meet him. These included a French bulldog in a slouch hat and a big poodle wearing angel wings. I think they were angel wings, but I guess they could have been dragonfly wings or just housefly wings.

There’s something disquieting about a poodle with wings and the discovery that they’re only costume wings doesn’t make it any better. Why would a dog want to wear wings? Worse, why would a dog owner want her pet to look like some grotesque insect emerging from the larval stage? Dog owners can be pretty strange sometimes and when you find yourself at a place where only old people live, surrounded by dogs in party costumes, you have to wonder if you’re not pretty strange yourself.

The dog party organizers had set up a midway of competitive events to test the guests’ agility and obedience. Bumby entered a doggie version of musical chairs and came away with a handsome medallion worn around the neck on a colorful ribbon. Indeed he won several prizes including one just for showing up. Our little dog has done a few turns in the competitive ring and is no stranger to glory. But that was a while ago and it was good to see him strutting his stuff again. He’s a natural showboat and is terribly vain, especially about his tail.

The dog party reached its climax with a grand parade around the charming grounds of the retirement village. It was a sparkling spring day and everybody was feeling good, especially the dogs. We were somewhere in the middle of the pack, a few places behind the poodle in the insect wings, and just ahead of a woman cradling in her hand a creature that looked like it might have come up out of the drain. If you saw one in your kitchen you’d jump out of your socks, but my wife assured me it was a dog, a real dog. We never saw the little man with the bear again. I hope they won a prize or two.